


Concerning the Breefolk and Hobbits

by Lady_Branwyn



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Breeland, Character Study, Drabble, Eriador, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Post-War of the Ring, Pre-War of the Ring, The Shire, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Branwyn/pseuds/Lady_Branwyn
Summary: Short fics from the lonely lands of Eriador





	1. Horse Sense (Bill the Pony, Gimli)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During "The Fellowship of the Ring"

An elf led Bill the Pony, saddled and laden with gear and food, from the stables to where the Fellowship waited in front of the hall. He whickered in greeting as the hobbits gathered around him, but he kept a wary eye on the other travelers. The elves had treated him kindly, letting him roll on his back in the grass and giving him oats and apples to eat, but he would not soon forget the cruelty of Bill Ferny. 

Suddenly, a tall Man raised a horn to his lips and winded a great call that echoed among the rocks. The hobbits covered their ears, while the folk of Rivendell looked about them in alarm. In the stables, the elven horses whinnied and kicked their stalls, but Bill the Pony merely shook his head and snorted. 

"Slow should you be to wind that horn again, Boromir," Master Elrond said sternly, as Bill began to search the hobbits' pockets for apples. 

"Now that is the proper horse for a dwarf, Legolas!" a stout, bearded figure said to the elf beside him. "No gangly-legged, scatter-brained, colicky, pinch-nosed warhorse, but a sensible pony. They are steady and tireless mounts, sturdy beasts of burden, and willing workers in the mines." 

Bill turned his head to stare at the dwarf. He had heard the tales, whispered among his kind, of terrible places in the ground, where ponies were made to slave in the darkness, pulling heavy carts until they fell in the traces and died. He sidled away from the dwarf, slowly raising an iron-shod hoof from the ground. 

"Beware that hind leg," the elf warned. "He is a wise beast, and I deem he disliked that remark about the mines." 

The dwarf stroked his beard as he peered into the pony's face. "My people have little skill with beasts, yet we do not treat them unkindly, and we honor the ponies who work alongside our miners, sharing their hazards and hardships. For those ponies are as great-hearted as the bravest warhorse. And far more clever, if you ask me." 

At the mention of hazard and hardship, Bill rolled his eyes and shook his head, yet he kept all four hooves on the ground as the dwarf scratched him on the withers, and with a cheerful whicker, he accepted a palmful of raisins. Despite the alarming talk of mines, plain horse sense told him that this was a friend.


	2. Early Snowfall (Boromir, Pippin, Merry, Legolas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During "The Fellowship of the Ring"  
> Written for the "White" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly LiveJournal community

Pippin, Merry, and the youngest elves of Rivendell went sledding after the snowfall. Eyes grey and overcast, the man watched in silence. 

"Boromir, don't you have snow in your land?" 

"In the high mountain passes, far from my home." 

Merry pointed to the back of the long sled. "Come on!" 

Legolas bit his lip. "It is unwise to put such heavy weight in back; you will go…" 

Small feet dug into the snow. "Boromir, tuck your legs in!" 

A sliding drop--  
"Gondor!"  
“The Shire!”  
“Aieeeeeeeee!” 

Then fountains of white as they tipped over. The elf shook his head. " _...Too fast._ "


	3. Cold Comfort (Merry, Pippin, Frodo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-War of the Ring  
> Written for the "Fishing" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly LiveJournal community

What looked like Pippin’s garden shed was perched beside the Brandywine. Frodo peered in the door.

“Glad you could join us.” Merry gestured to an armchair. On the wall above it, hung a picture of two hounds playing checkers. 

“Ale?” Pippin handed him a tankard. “Strider says the rangers build shelters so they can fish in the winter. So we decided to try it.” Two rods sat in an umbrella stand, their lines trailing out the door. 

“Fish biting?”

Merry offered a plate. “Not yet. Have some cake.” 

“Those rangers sure know how to fish,” Pippin said, taking a biscuit.


	4. Scion (Merry, Pippin, surprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-War of the Ring, possibly alternate universe  
> Written for the "Woodland" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly LiveJournal community

The baby stared at them, frowning slightly. He looked back and forth, from the hobbits to his father, his eyes reflecting the dappled light of the woodland. 

“He’s beautiful,” Merry murmured. “He has your eyes.”

Pippin reached out a finger. He winced as the baby clenched it in his fist. “Strong too, just like his father.”

The baby gave a small cry, a cross between the sound of an owl and a broken clarinet. 

“That means he’s hungry, ” Treebeard said, setting a small bowl beside the baby. “Drink deeply, little one, and you’ll grow as tall as these hobbits.”


	5. Hook, Line and Sinker (Deagol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the "Line" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly LiveJournal community

Yellow irises rose above the marsh like banners, and the tiny boat drifted in a sea of green swords. 

The fisher trailed one hand in the water as he lazily swung the willow switch back and forth. He had baited his line with a deadly prize, a nightcrawler dug from the garden. Too late would his prey feel the cut of the hook, discover the hidden treachery. The fisher knew he need only wait. Sooner or later, some unwary creature would seize the offered bait. 

Six feet below, in the mud of the river-bed, sunlight glinted on a golden ring.


	6. Buying Bag End (Lobelia)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-War of the Ring  
> Written for the "Buy" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly LiveJournal community

Even the key was respectable, brushed to a soft patina by generations of Bagginses. It fit the lock perfectly, giving a soft click as it turned. Lobelia pushed open the door. For seventy years, she had waited for this. 

Lantern raised high, she went from room to room. The hole seemed somehow less pleasing emptied of Frodo's belongings. When she looked at the mantel, she missed the brass clock, and the floor was bare where the red-patterned carpet had sat. She even felt the lack of Bilbo’s old maps. Once again she felt cheated, though she could not say why.


	7. The Sharpest Vinegar (Lobelia)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the War of the Ring  
> Written for the "Sour" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly LiveJournal community.

Lobelia could write letters of spidery elegance, for she had been taught alongside her brother. Not only to write but also to do sums. She needed no tallystick to count the stores of her household. Hardworking and thrifty, she rose before dawn to stir up the fire and start the day’s work. 

“The finest wine makes the sharpest vinegar,” the folk in Hobbiton laughed. 

Yet later, when most of them cowered, she stood her ground against the ruffians. For she was mistress in her own household. With grudging respect, the neighbors muttered, “That old Lobelia is still full of vinegar.”


	8. Awakening (barrow-wight)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-War of the Ring  
> Written for the "Black" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly LiveJournal community

I wake to the smell of earth, the rough graze of stone. The rusted point still grips my heart--  
 _shouting, a heavy fall and then the thrust of spear._

No mourner's tread on the mound above, only the lament of wind in grass. I deem that we are long forgotten 

Faint voices rustle in the blackness. Strange words, and yet I seethe with rage, for I was cheated of my span of years. I fling aside the crumbling wreaths of flowers. 

The earthen door grinds open. Raising a battered sword, I shout, “Death! Death to the men of Carn Dum!”


	9. The Game of Kings (Butterbur)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-War of the Ring  
> Written in honor of the tenth anniversary of the Valar Guild, an international fellowship of Tolkien enthusiasts and gamers.

When the wind from the north rattled the shutters, the two rangers would sit by the fire for hours, hunched over a chessboard marked in black and white squares. At first, Barliman had been annoyed. He was lucky if they ordered a second pint during the evening, and he worried that their grim looks might scare away honest folk. Until he saw how the other guests were watching their match with great interest. 

The rangers called it “the game of kings” and Strider had offered to teach him, but all those pieces and rules were too much for Barliman to remember. Kings, castles, knights, pawns—it was enough to make your head spin! But Breelanders, dwarves, and Shirefolk gathered about the table to watch and sometimes even play. Whenever a dwarf sat down at the chessboard, there were long discussions about which moves were lawful, and the Shire hobbits insisted on using their own names for some of the pieces— _thain_ for king and _archer_ for knight. The matches lasted for hours and sometimes even days. Barliman was puzzled. This pastime seemed as amusing as watching the grass sprout on the Greenway, but if it kept his guests happy, who was he to complain? 

Then the two rangers would disappear, leaving the chessboard sitting on the table. Barliman guessed they were off in the wild, doing whatever it was that rangers did. The less he knew of their business, the better, he supposed. The innkeeper would not see them for days and sometimes even months; and then one evening, he would look across the common room, and there they were playing chess, as if they had never left. Except that their boots were more worn and their faces a little more grim. “The game of kings,” Barliman would mutter as he brought two tankards of ale, “That’s a funny name for a game played by rangers.”


	10. Windfall (Samwise, the Gaffer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-War of the Ring  
> Written for the "Apple" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly LiveJournal community

The Gaffer patted the gnarled trunk, greeting the tree like an old friend. “I planted this the year you were born. ‘Tis a Hobbiton Russet. There’s no better apple for cookin’ or for eatin’.” 

“And there’s not one left on the branches, thanks to those ruffians.” Scowling, Sam nudged a bruised apple with his rake. Sharky’s Men had taken what they wanted, knocking the rest of the harvest to the ground. A sad waste.

“Bad to the core, the lot of 'em,” the Gaffer said, “But even rotten apples have their uses. These ones will make some mighty fine cider.”


	11. Ornament (Samwise, Faramir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-War of the Ring  
> Written for the "Between" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly LiveJournal community.

"No respectable garden should be without one,” Samwise said, as he handed Faramir the brightly painted statue. “My gaffer swears that they keep away the slugs. I thought you could use it, sir, seeings how you like to garden and all.” 

In a place of honor by the sundial, the little figure guarded the herbs, his red hood peeking between the lavender. _Gimli,_ the children named him, on account of the flowing, white beard. 

Oft a guest would ask the prince where he had gotten the statue, and soon a crop of dwarves was sprouting in the gardens of Gondor.


	12. Plain Delight (Samwise, Rosie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-War of the Ring  
> Written for the "Plane" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly LiveJournal community

Rosie looked down as she set the pie before him. “This must seem plain, after feasting with the high and mighty.” She wiped her hands on her best embroidered apron, the one she wore only on feast days. 

“They do eat some fancy stuff down south. I saw roasted swans with the feathers still on ‘em!” 

“Maybe for outlanders," Rosie said as she sliced the pie. The berries glistened like rubies in the flaky crust. Cherry pie, his favorite. 

Samwise nodded, and he raised the mug of golden ale brewed by Farmwife Maggot. “Plain food is best. Leastwise for hobbits.”


	13. Not To Blame (Merry, Pippin, Gandalf)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the War of the Ring  
> For the "Chest" challenge at the Tolkien_weekly LiveJournal community

The wizard stopped as he neared the healers’ garden, for the sound of hobbits was unmistakable. Their voices floated like dragonflies above the foxgloves.

“So that is what has been troubling you,” Meriadoc said slowly.

“If only I had said the right words to Lord Denethor, something to make him stop.”

“You're not to blame, Pip. If a wizard like Gandalf couldn’t persuade the steward, how could a hobbit like you?”

“I suppose you are right, as always. I am glad to get that off my chest; it made me feel all strangled inside.” 

Gandalf hurried away on his errand.


	14. Seeking Imladris 1: Beating the Bounds (Original Character, Boromir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "On Foot" Challenge at Tolkien_weekly

Tolman was beating the bounds when one of the Big Folk came striding up the south road. Alone and on foot but armed with a sword.

Tolman drew his bow and nocked an arrow. “Just turn around, master, and go back to wherever you come from."

“Are you a Halfling?” the Outsider asked, eyes wide with amazement.

“Hobbit, if you please, master,” Tolman replied, aiming the arrow at his heart.

“I seek Elrond Half-elven, lord of Imladris.”

“Well, he isn't here. There ain't no elves, half or otherwise, in the Shire. And no Men neither, if you take my meaning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'...long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the house of Elrond, of which many had heard, but few knew where it lay.'"  
> Boromir, _The Fellowship of the Ring_


	15. Seeking Imladris 2: A Strange Customer (Barliman Butterbur)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "On Foot" challenge at Tolkien_weekly

“From Minas Tirith? Is that along the Greenway? I hope it was not a hard journey.” _Looks like a ranger,_ Barliman thought, _excepting he’s too finely dressed._

“Elves? No elves ever stop at the Pony, but we see some rangers and dwarves. They have business along the East Road. The dwarves, I mean, not the rangers. Who knows what those rangers are up to.”

“There’s no Imladris hereabouts. Sorry I can’t be more help, Master Boromir. After you’ve had some supper, would you care to join the company?” The common room would be packed to hear this princely traveler’s tales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'...long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the house of Elrond, of which many had heard, but few knew where it lay.'"  
> Boromir, _The Fellowship of the Ring_


	16. Seeking Imladris 3: Chance Meeting (Boromir, Original Character)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "On Foot" challenge at Tolkien_weekly

“I've wandered since Tharbad so I thank you for your aid.” Despite his strange accent and clothing, this Man looked like one of the Dunedain as he sat beside the small fire.

“Thirty leagues to the east then fifteen leagues past the ford,” the ranger told him again. “Rivendell it is called in Westron.”

Boromir of Gondor leaned forward to warm his hands. “And all the while I asked for Imladris. I was close to despair before we chanced to meet.”

The ranger looked up from stirring the rabbit stew. “I see nothing of chance in your journey, my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'...long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the house of Elrond, of which many had heard, but few knew where it lay.'"  
> Boromir, _The Fellowship of the Ring_


End file.
